That's What Friends Are For
by Dien Alcyone
Summary: Snape's best friend shows up at Hogwarts. Yes, that's right, he HAS FRIENDS. Keep your smart-aleck comments to yourself! Good times ensue.
1. Should Auld Acquaintance

That's What Friends Are For  
By Lady Dien

Rating: This is general, good-hearted fun-- but Valence has a filthy mouth, that bad boy! He may say some bad words once in a while, or provoke Snape into doing likewise. So, PG-13 for language. 

Summary: I really have no idea where this came from or where it's going. Basically, I just started thinking how everybody, even Severus Snape, has to have friends. (Okay, well, some versions of Snape have him so ****ed up that he DOESN'T, and I'll admit I've written some of the said versions... but THIS Snape has friends. So there. Socially Well Adjusted Snape. Kind of.) ANYWAYS, Severus's best friend comes back to teach at Hogwarts, and reminds our Potions Master that he is indeed a human being. And maybe teaches it to some other people at the same time. This thing has no definite ending or plot, I just add stuff to it when I get tired of writing angst/slash/smut/dark humour/unhappy Snape ficcage and want some warm and fluffy.

Disclaimer: Anybody you've seen in the books is not mine but JKR's. Anybody you don't know-- specifically Valence, but maybe others will show up-- is mine. I can't lay claim to the plot, because I already said there was no such thing to be found here, didn't I? :)

Setting: Fourth year, but there's no GoF because I started the outline for this stuff after reading PoA. So: no canceling of Quidditch, no Alastor Moody (which is good 'cuz I think he and Valence would sound a bit too similar at times), no none of that. You get the idea.

On with the show!

~|~*\V/*~|~

Chapter One: Should Auld Acquaintance Have the _Nerve_ to Show His Ugly Face...

  
  
Harry and Ron grinned and waved as they caught sight of each other across the train platform, Ron detaching himself from the rest of his red-headed family to run over to Harry. The two boys engaged in friendly mock-punching of the arms as they said hellos.

"Hey, Harry! How were your aunt and uncle for the summer?" said Ron with an evil smile.

"Perfectly and horribly beastly, as you well know," Harry said with a grimace, aiming at his best friend's head.

"Yeah, sorry. Wish you could've come and stayed with us."

"Me too. Oh well, back to another year at Hogwarts!" Harry said happily, not having to fake any enthusiasm for school. Because, despite the prospect of studying, tests, certain unpleasant people (Malfoy, Snape, and Filch primarily) and the fact that not one of the three years behind him had managed to complete themselves without some showdown between the forces of Darkness and himself.... despite all that, Hogwarts still scored over summer hols in three important respects: 

1)It did not have Uncle Vernon.  
2)It did not have Aunt Petunia.  
3)It did not have Dudley.

Of course, Hogwarts also had Quidditch, and certain pleasant people (Hagrid, Hermione, all the Weasleys especially Ron, Headmaster Dumbledore, etc, etc...), new things to learn in fun classes, and adventures to be had. Yes, he was definitely looking forward to the coming year.

At that moment, the rest of the Weasley family came over to say hellos and deliver more mock-punches (in the case of Fred and George), a surprising, bashful hug (from Ginny, who absolutely adored him), and a more maternal hug (from Mrs. Weasley). Harry endured it all happily. The Weasleys were a bit like an extended family to him, and the affection and warmth was wonderful.

Hermione, with perfect timing, arrived a few minutes later, walking in through the barrier that separated Platform Nine and Three-Quarters from the Muggle world. Ron and Harry headed over to say hellos and help her with her luggage, letting out good-natured groans at the number of books she seemed to have with her.

In less time than one would have thought, it was already time to board the train. Luggage was hastily stowed aboard, last-minute goodbyes were called out to family members, first-years looked, as always, terrified, and the merry chaos of it effectively ended all conversation until they were seated in their compartments.

Hermione, Harry and Ron shared a compartment, Neville Longbottom sticking his head in and asking to join them after a minute or two. Ron let out a low groan but subsided under the combined glares of Harry and Hermione, and their somewhat clumsy and absent-minded fellow Gryffindor sat down with them.

"How's Trevor doing, Neville?" asked Hermione brightly. Neville smiled sheepishly. "I've lost him again--"

"Oh, _Neville_--" began Hermione, but Neville continued. "--so Gran, who'd been saying she'd just get me an owl if I lost him one more time, finally had to make good. His name is Compass-- because he's got a great sense of direction!" the boy finished happily, just a small brown barn owl flew in through the open compartment door to land on Neville's shoulder. "See? He can find me _anywhere_. I may lose him, but he won't lose me!"

Harry chuckled, but said, "That's great, Neville. I'm sure he'll be a little more useful than Trevor anyway."

"Yeah. Still, I hope Trev's happy-- I 'lost him' right by the pier in our pond, so I can go visit him whenever I like." 

"Neville!" said Hermione. "You didn't..."

"Well, I really wanted an owl," Neville said with a small smile. The boys burst out laughing and said 'way to go, Nev.'

Other than discovering Neville's new familiar, the only subject of interest that came up was the lack of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. In the course outline, the only name listed was Staff, and Hermione had to explain to Neville that, no, it did not mean a wizard named 'Staff' would be teaching the class.

"You think they haven't got anybody to teach it yet?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, and Hermione looked thoughtful. "Maybe people are afraid to take the job. First... Quirrell, then Lockhart, then Professor Lupin... it doesn't seem like anyone manages to keep the post, does it?"

"Maybe it'll be a witch this year. A young, pretty one!" Ron said enthusiastically, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Obviously Ron thought he had discovered the fairer sex this summer.

That led off into a whole new discussion that bordered on heated debate, and took them the rest of the way into Hogwarts.

  


~|~*\V/*~|~

School was the usual happy chaos, worse than the train, as everyone struggled to get into the Great Hall and say hello to friends they hadn't seen all summer, all at the same time. Finally they were all seated.

Harry scanned the High Table for a glimpse of who might be their new DADA teacher, but saw no new faces. Snape, however, did give him the customary glare, Harry returning it as much as he dared.

Then, the door were opened and the scared-looking first years piled into the Hall. Harry tried to give some sympathetic glances, remembering his own nervousness before the Sorting, but none of the kids seemed to dare look up.

The Sorting Hat was brought out and placed on its stool. It opened its mouth and began to sing.

_ "Welcome, little first years, to our Hall and to your school  
Your home for the next seven years, be you wise or be you fool.  
Be you brave or cowardly, be you honest or a cheat,  
Be you driven by ambition or a lazy piece of meat!  
Let me introduce myself, I'm the famous Sorting Hat.  
I sort them all, big or tall, short or small, thin or fat  
Fair or dark, rich or poor, but always, always young,  
For each of you are first years and your years are just begun.  
Try me on, new students, and learn where you will go:  
Perhaps to valiant Gryffindor, where strength of heart does show  
Where students are courageous, with dash and dare and fire   
Where nobility's uplifted, and young heroes all aspire.  
Perhaps you'll be a Ravenclaw, quick of mind and learning  
Your thoughts spiraling higher, not to base earth returning  
But advancing onto knowledge, to wisdom's sacred call.  
Or perhaps you'll be a Hufflepuff, hardest working of them all  
Loyal, honest Hufflepuffs, tried and true and steady  
Stay the course-- with decent hearts-- and souls and hands at ready.  
And yet you _could_ be Slytherin, the house renowned for drive  
That House will surely teach you how to advance and thrive  
A home for those with cunning, with clever quick ambition  
With an eye for power, and their own position.  
Put me on, I'll see your mind, and what resides inside  
I'll name your House, that place where you'll abide  
I'll look you up, I'll look you down, and say where you should be--  
For I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and that's my job you see!"_

The students all burst into applause, even a few of the first-years. Harry leaned back in his chair and watched as the Sorting began.

It seemed to go far more quickly than Harry remembered from his own first year. Clapping and cheering for the new Gryffindors was quickly over, then Dumbledore's 'speech' -- the old wizard was every bit as cheerful and vaguely dotty as Harry remembered, though he knew that Dumbledore was a lot more together than he let on-- and then (groan) singing the (double groan) Hogwart's school song.

The incomparable noise of four hundred plus students singing soon filled the halls. Dumbledore had formerly had it sung after the meal, but some of the wiser and older students had begun leaving the hall after food and before music, as it were. Hence, the new order of events. 

Finally, though, the singing was done too, and the Gryffindor table, along with all the others, gleefully dug into the feast that appeared before them. It was, if possible, more spectacular every year.

Harry was just in the middle of passing a platter piled high with delicious roast turkey to Seamus Finnigan, a few seats down, when a loud booming knock reverberated through the hall-- the volume a consequence of a Sonorus charm laid upon the main entrance door, so that even the most timid of knocks could make you think a giant outside desired entry.

The first years all looked startled or terrified, the older students and the teachers curious. Only Dumbledore's pleased expression never faltered; indeed, it might have kicked up a notch or two. The Headmaster turned in his tall chair and said to Hagrid, "Could you go and get that, Rubeus?"

With a happy nod, the half-giant rose from his seat and lumbered off towards the Great Hall's exit. The students shrugged and returned to their food.

The meal-centered equanimity of the gathered students might have shook a bit when, a few moments later, Hagrid's booming voice was clearly heard to shout, in a tone that suggested he was positively overcome with joy and happiness, "PROFESSOR FEYE!"

The reactions throughout the hall were interesting to watch. As a whole, the student body generally looked curious and speculative; Harry and his friends had not been the only ones to notice the gap on the DADA position.

At the High Table, Dumbledore's pleased expression grew even more so. Professors Sprout and Flitwick looked a bit uneasy, and Professor McGonagall decidedly green about the gills--or whiskers, as the case may be. Madam Hooch and Professor Vector shared a Look. Though Harry could not see Vector's face from his position, a distinctly... well, _predatory_ grin appeared on the flying instructor's face.

Ron whispered to Harry, "Uh-oh-- if staff reactions are anything to go by, we're dealing with a dangerous monster... probably something along the lines of a blast-ended skrewt."

"What makes you say that, Ron?" hissed Hermione.

Ron grinned and spread his hands. "Hagrid sounds like he adores this professor, Sprout and Flitwick look worried, McGonagall looks positively ill, and the only ones who seem to be happy are Dumbledore, who's mad to begin with, and Hooch, who can always fly away!"

The wisecrack earned some laughter around them, but joking aside, everybody's curiosity was definitely aroused. Eyes, ears and necks craned towards the entrance, and were not disappointed.

A gruff, distinctly male voice (Ron sighed in disappointment) could be heard to say, "Rubeus! Good to see you, and all that! Now kindly place me back on the floor _before you break something FRAGILE, like my ruddy SPINE!"_

"Oh, ri'. 'M very sorry, Professor. Here, lehme grab your luggage, Professor."

The sounds of movement in the hallway, and then the oh-so-mysterious Professor Feye appeared in the doorway of the Hall.

The man was perhaps on the short side but powerfully built, a solid, stocky body visible under his Muggle clothes and the cloak that seemed thrown over them as a last-minute addition. The cloak was dark green and should have looked incongruous with the double-breasted, smartly tailored grey suit underneath, yet complemented it instead. Above the cloak and white shirt collar, a head swiveled to look around the room, the man's eyes boring relentlessly into every student they rested on.

The eyes were pale grey behind utilitarian, steel-rimmed glasses, and set in a face that, while not young, was not exactly old either. Strong features; a straight, aristocratic nose and powerful jaw, the teeth currently showing in a smile that seemed to have something dangerous in it. Despite the silvered hair, wiry and cut close to the skull in a faintly militaristic style, the face was unlined, and the man's age could have been anything from a prematurely greying mid-thirty to a youthful mid-fifty.

A little ways up the table, Harry heard Lavender Brown say to one of the Patils with a dreamy sigh, "Silver fox..." He snorted.

The man gave a final stare around the room and began to _stalk_ (there really was no other verb) down between the tables towards where Dumbledore now stood, an expectant smile on his face. 

"Valence! So glad you could make it! You're late, though, you know," beamed the Headmaster. Around him, the teachers also stood, with various degrees of eagerness or reluctance-- with the exception of Snape, who continued to eat supper as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

_He probably wouldn't admit he was capable of being disturbed by an_ earthquake, Harry thought sourly. 

'Valence' gave an expressive snort at the Headmaster's words as he made his way towards the High Table, ignoring the students around him as if they were so many wraiths. Hagrid trailed along in the smaller man's wake, a large trunk carried on one massive shoulder as if it were nothing.

"Had to time it so I arrived after that bloody song of yours, Headmaster," he said, the dangerous grin growing a bit wider. His voice was low and slightly growly, with the faint hint of a Scottish brogue. He spoke with the odd inflections of a lower-class man with a good education, coarse and cultured all at once. Dumbledore smiled at the retort.

"Ah yes. I'd forgotten you're no great lover of music." (Half the students in the Hall decided they liked the new teacher-- if so he was-- right then and there.) The man laughed, a low laugh that brought out the growl in his voice a bit more.

"Fa la la. La di da. Calloo, callay. There's your music appreciation, Albus," he said with another snort, finally up to the table now. He shook hands energetically with the old wizard, then turned to the other teachers.

"Filius! Hello, man. How're your Ravenclaws? Won any House Cups recently? No? Ah, don't worry. There's always this year," Valence Feye said, barely giving the diminutive Ravenclaw Head of House a chance to answer before moving on to Sprout. 

"Salvia, my dear. You're as lovely and decidedly Hufflepuff as ever." Sprout smiled a tight thanks at the... compliment, if so it was, but did not appear to relax. Feye's grin broadened, and he turned to the Gryffindor Head.

"Well, if it isn't the Mackie! Hello, Minnie. How've you been, woman?" The woman in question shook the outstretched hand gingerly, and one could almost see her reining in her notorious Scottish temper.

"Quite well, Valence, thank you. Yourself?" The Gryffindors were torn between happiness that their Head had never turned that particular icy, spoken-through-clenched-teeth-with-a-smile-on- my-face tone of voice on any of them before, and shock that someone dared to refer to the professor as "Mackie"-- to her face, no less. Or Minnie, for that matter.

The man grinned wildly, a mildly disturbing sight, and said with something approaching wicked glee, "I'm sure you'd like me to say horrible, but I'm afraid your lot in life is to be forever disappointed, Mac. I've been having an _excellent_ time. Especially since I'm well away from the collection of books, brats and boring that makes up this fine institute of higher learning, hah. But it was nice of you to ask."

He then turned to the next person standing to greet him-- Hooch-- with an air that very clearly spoke of dismissal, the way one dismisses a student. McGonagall's pinched expression showed that she was well aware of it and was _not_ pleased.

"My dear Peregrin! It's been too long. May I say you look positively stunning?" Feye said to Hooch, taking her hand with a courtly air and kissing it.

"You may indeed, Valence, and you're not looking half-bad yourself," said Hooch with a mischevious grin. And then it was on to Binns (who was if anything stiffer than McGonagall had been), then Figg (who seemed pleased to see him), and so on and so on.

Finally, Feye turned from Professor Vector, who had been another one in the 'I seem to like him' category, his smile fading as he looked around the table. In bare seconds, his expression shifted from friendly (if possessed of a mildly wicked smile) to grim and hostile. The pale eyes became quite wintry, a chill only surpassed by the cutting ice of the tone when he spoke.

"And where," he said softly, "is that little bastard upstart who fancies himself a Potions instructor in my absence?" The cold grey eyes settled on Snape, still calmly working at his dinner, cutting up a piece of steak with surgical precision. Valence moved to stand next to him, distaste clear in the glare with which he fixed Snape.

Feye continued in the severe tones that had once made him the most feared professor at Hogwarts. "Is the respect of _standing_ too much to ask of the," _sneer here_ "great Head of Slytherin House? Is a little common _courtesy_ too much to demand?

"But of course it is." The tone dripped with sarcasm. "After all, Severus Snape has _much_ better things to do with his valuable time. I'm quite sure of it. So _tell me,_ Snape-- _ exactly what are you doing, these days?"_

Snape finally turned a bored, yet icy, stare on the other man, and stood. In one fluid motion, the Potion Master's long frame unfolded itself from the chair to tower over the shorter, stockier man. The black eyes looked down with no warmth whatsoever on the fiercely glaring Feye. In a voice that suggested he was addressing something he'd just scraped off the bottom of his boot, Snape said, "Not a lot. Just wondering what on earth a dried-up, wasted old fool like yourself is doing on Hogwarts grounds-- besides using up valuable oxygen, I mean."

An odd and slightly terrified hush pervaded the Hall, as all attention was focused on the confrontation. Snape's vicious sarcasm was well known to anyone who had survived a staff meeting or a class with him, and to see someone go after him on his own turf was quite something. The Slytherins silently rooted for their Head of House. Everyone else silently rooted for the newcomer.

The two men stared at each other, mutual loathing and malice written on their features. Feye's fists were on his hips, his legs planted slightly apart and his nostril flaring. Snape's eyes were cold and his lips pressed together in a thin line. The moment held.

Then Feye's scowl transfigured into the most slightly-disturbing grin yet, and he threw back his head and laughed. "Damn, Severus, it's good to see you!"

Snape's expression changed too, the dark eyes warming and his thin lips twitching slightly. "Likewise, Valence," he murmured in a tone completely unlike his usual acid, extending a hand to be shook. He was instead pulled roughly into a bone-crushing embrace, though Valence Feye (perhaps mindful of Hagrid's own attempts to display affection) quickly released him.

The shorter man grabbed Severus's shoulders and looked him over with an appraising glance. "Jesus, Sev, d'they not feed you around here? You're a bloody scarecrow! Mind, I do think you've shot up a few more inches. Awful rude of you, if you ask me."

"Go splinch yourself," Snape said pleasantly. "I didn't ask. How's America been treating you?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Damned if I can get a decent cuppa, but really, Sev, you should _see_ the work the Yanks are doing in health potions, bloody _incredible, _and they're so much less stodgy than over here, work with the Mugs and get it billed mostly as "alternative medicine," it's absolutely fantastic. Especially on the West Coast, they've done some really innovative stuff with acupuncture, valerian root, and modifications on the first three Aesculapian Potions--"

"Oh yes. I'd read about that in the _Journal._ Kaczynski and Bowen, yes? And they've been experimenting with the effects of Muggle treatments in conjunction with traditional, wizarding remedies. Very controversial--"

"Oh to hell with the politics of it, I went up to their lab and you'd give your wand to look at their working notes, Severus! _Brilliant._ Especially Bowen-- now that is one witch with a head on her shoulders... totally rewrote the second half of the formula for _Tincture Medicina Nerviosa,_ got the chemical compounds more accurate then anyone since Bergen. It's all in the application, see, the derivatives of the hellebore extract. Potency _isn't_ the problem, it never has been, you're simply dealing with ramifications of--"

"--the volatile nature of the hellebore. And you say they've gotten around that? How?! Are they distilling, or working with vapors, or--"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Dumbledore interrupted gently, which was fortunate since most of the students' eyes and a few of the teachers' were glazing over. "I'm sure the topic is quite fascinating, but perhaps you two would care to pursue it some other time than the middle of dinner...?"

The two men blinked and slowly returned their focus to the Great Hall, both looking a bit sheepish. "Of course, Albus," murmured Feye, pulling out his wand and conjuring a chair. The teachers all sat down again, Feye between Snape and Dumbledore.

The students (once they'd gotten over the shock of seeing someone HUG Professor Snape) waited eagerly for an announcement of some sort that this was the new DADA teacher (some more happily than others). But Albus Dumbledore seemed content to return to chatting pleasantly with McGonagall, on his other side. (She still looked a bit miffed.) The students exchanged disappointed glances, waiting at least for some explanation or further information, but it seemed they were not to be so blessed. Finally, but with occasional stares at Feye, the gathered children returned full attention to their food.

  
  
-End part one, get going to the next! 


	2. No, I Really Don't Want the Job, Really

That's What Friends Are For  
By Lady Dien

Disclaimer and all that is to be found in Chapter One.

What has gone before: An old friend of Severus's has just shown up at Hogwarts on the first day of HP and friends' fourth year. Onto dinner!

Notes and kudos: I think Severus and Valence's conversation mode owes something to the Teasdale twins in Riley's Pawn to Queen. All hail. 

And I very nearly copied word for word from Margaret Weis's "Brothers in Arms" to cover Valence's introduction of himself. *ducks head in shame* 

If you've read TRANSMETROPOLITAN, you might recognize a line or two of Albus and Severus's convo.

The line about 'contextual intelligence' was inspired by Hannibal Lecter's words to Clarice.

~|~*\V/*~|~

Chapter Two: No, I Really Don't Want the Job, _Really_

  
  
Up at the High Table, Severus and Valence were continuing the potions-related discussion in confidential tones. Their mode of conversation would have been quite odd to anyone who had never seen them speak together on a subject they were enthusiastic about-- but all the teachers, who _had_ seen said phenomenon before, spared only a amused, 'there-they-go-again' glance before returning to their own discussions.

The way they talked was like this: very very hurried, without the redeeming presence of even one completed, grammatically correct sentence. It was more obvious in the less-restrained and inhibited Valence, but Severus was guilty of his share of it too. One of them would commence with a rapid string of syllables that took concentration to understand as words (generally words of a technical and highly educated nature), and would keep talking until he ran out of breath, at which point the other would complete the thought with uncanny accuracy, and start on his own. A brief, attempted sample-- (Valence and Severus thought it was quite ridiculous that I wanted to note their conversation mannerisms at all, and refused to let me record anything. I'm attempting to reconstruct from memory here, and you'll have to forgive me, gentle reader, if the example does not truly convey.)

"--but, really," (this was Valence) "the fundamentals of clematis's properties can't be altered that radically! That's _basics,_ Sev, that's--"

"--first year, yes yes. But _omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis_. Everything changes. All that is _necessary_ is the catalyst, all that is _necessary_ is an understanding of the structures involved and the potential reactions, if, if, you simply _apply_ the catalyst, transfiguration without a wand, that's the whole--"

"--idea of potions-making, alright. Good as far as it goes, but that's _external change,_ damnitall! I'm referring to the laws on which you base your catalysts, asphodel is still asphodel you know. Bloody hell, you and your bloody gestalt mindset-- a potion is nothing but the sum of its parts--"

"--_and_ their reactions, Valence! More than the sum of, _more_ than-- look at an Illuminus Draft if you need an example-- most common ingredients available, it's the _work_ and the _combinations_ and the _change_ that makes the potion effective. Really, Valence, you and your old-school training..."

"Excuse me." This was Dumbledore, detaching himself from the conversation with Minerva McGonagall and leaning over to them. "Sorry to interrupt-- my, but you two really are indefatigable, aren't you?"

They both grinned at him, Valence with his wolfish smile and Severus with his trademarked smirk. "Our apologies, Albus--"

"--but the two of us so rarely get to speak with anyone--" 

"--of intelligence equal to ourselves--"

"--that it's a shame to waste the opportunity."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Well, much as I can respect that, and little as I hate to deny you entertainment, Severus, I must-- at least temporarily-- ask to borrow Valence. If you don't mind?"

Severus shrugged non-commitally, a wry smile playing in his lips. Albus momentarily paused at the sight of it, thinking to himself. _It's been too long since I've seen him smiling. It really would be a good thing if I could convince Valence to come back, and not just for the students' sake._

"Thank you, Severus." He turned his attention to the other man. "Valence. I know how much you disdain small talk--"

"I only tolerate it when I've got something to gain from it, Headmaster."

"Precisely. So I'll get to the point. I didn't just ask you to visit today for the undeniable pleasure of your company--" (on the other side, McGonagall muttered something unprintable) "but because... well, to be honest, we want you back. I was never happy you resigned to begin with. And with... everything... well, I really do think you could be very useful here on staff again, Valence."

The other man snorted, light reflecting off his glasses at the movement of his head. "I knew you had some sort of ulterior motive, sir. Well, tough. I'm retired, both from teaching and... my other pursuits... and quite happy about it, Albus.

"Besides which," he added, taking a swallow of the fine wine the teachers had access to, "you've already got yourself a Potions Master-- and let's be frank: much as it pains me to admit it, Sev's better with potions than I ever was." He paused to glare at the younger man, who had a rare pleased smile on his face. "You never heard me say that, by the way."

Albus smiled. "Be that as it may. I wasn't actually considering you for the position of Potions, Valencian. No, where I need a teacher is in the area of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The shorter man blinked. And blinked again. "Come again?"

"I need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Albus said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. Valence continued to stare at him as if he'd lost his wits. Finally he said, "Whatever happened to Curry?"

"Curry was nearly as old as I, my friend. He eventually retired three years after Severus's first year teaching. I think you were in Asia at the time, so it's possible you didn't hear.

"Since then," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, prying open some shellfish on his plate, "we've had a string of less than... satisfactory... teachers for the post. Madame Cabal was quite... knowledgeable about her subject, in fact a little too knowledgeable. She held the post for three years before we finally caught her at a gathering of Death Eaters. Then came Lewis, a very decent man-- who held the opinion that the existence of Dark Arts should be admitted as infrequently as possible. So we only had him one year." Dumbledore was well aware of Severus's expressive snort on the other side of the table, but kept his eyes on the recalcitrant lobster on his plate, which was proving extremely stubborn to dis-shell.

"Then we had Grindal. An excellent teacher, but he chose to leave us for a more lucrative position in the Ministry after two years. Next came Sherwin. She was very eager and earnest, but, well, to be blunt, she didn't quite have the requisite skills to teach at seventh year level. She went off on a 'research trip' to the Yucatan four summers after starting here, and unfortunately didn't survive a run-in with some Dark creatures she met there. 

"Finally, we hired Quirinus Quirrell. I think you might remember him, he was a first year during your last year teaching. He was a mistake-- though we didn't realize it until three years ago..." Dumbledore seemed very sad for a moment, then once more resumed wrestling with the shellfish. "And then we had Lockhart, and then last year Lupin. You've probably heard about them. In any case. Now, I'm finding it increasingly hard to hire people for the job...

"Well, what do you say, Valence, my boy?"

The wizard in question had listened to the whole narrative with a disbelieving, then incredulous, look on his face. Now he turned and shot a look at Severus, who was suddenly quite fascinated with the table-top. He turned back to glare at Albus. "With due respect, Headmaster," he said with a frown, "I am by no means the most qualified man for the position. By no means."

Albus pretended not to know what he was talking about. "Nonsense, Valence. You've worked against Death Eaters covertly for some years now, you're a more than capable combat wizard, and you're a proven teacher with an excellent record-- even if not in this subject. You're perfect for the job."

"Albus. Headmaster. If you have a vacancy for the position, Severus is _more_ than 'qualified' and you know it," Feye said flatly. "Hell, he's _over-qualified,_ if anything. And let us indeed speak frankly: Sev wants the job, and he has for-- what? Fifteen years?

"And you've been putting in everybody _but_ him. Resorted to Dark witches and wizards, incompetents, just about everyone you could before putting him in. I don't claim to know what the hell you're playing at, Albus, but I am _not_ going to help run a game like that on a friend of mine. That's final," Valence snapped, turning back with a grimace to his winecup.

Dumbledore sighed and opened his mouth to speak. But Snape beat him to it, leaning forward and putting a restraining hand on Feye's forearm.

"Look, Valence, don't be a stupid fool," he said in a low flat tone. "Albus Dumbledore has, in his infinite and all-knowing wisdom, decided that he wants me teaching Potions. So be it. No resolve of yours is going to change his mind, and you know it.

"And I _don't_ want the job, truthfully. I simply want someone _capable_ teaching it. When I was the only option for that, then yes, I did want to see the children being taught competently-- which meant by me. But you would do a fine job, and--"

"You'd be better. He wants someone with experience fighting Death Eaters and good in combat sitches? Then what the hell is--"

"Oh, shut up, Valence," the Slytherin Head hissed in a low voice. "Look, it's not just Albus. Enough parents-- and members of the governing board-- remember what I... was... to want me teaching their little brats _that._"

Valence was not to be budged. "If he wants you in the job, he'll get you there, and parents and board be damned. He has the clout--"

"--and has decided not to use it. Look, I really _don't_ mind. I'll be content with you teaching it. Just take it already-- you're stubborn, but you're no match for Albus and we both know it. Take it, so we can get on with dinner," Snape said in exasperation, glaring at the other man.

Valence sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't really want to be teaching again," he said, partly to Dumbledore and partly to Snape.

Dumbledore sensed victory and wisely said nothing. After a few moments, Feye opened his eyes and glared at the imperturbable Headmaster. "I am _not_ taking Slytherin House back."

"Of course you're not," said Albus cheerfully. "That would indeed be taking too much from poor Severus."

Both men glared at him, then Valence finally nodded with a sigh. "Very well, Albus. And, old man-- you _owe_ me for this."

"Naturally. Thank you, Valence. I suppose I'll make the announcement now, then."

~|~*\V/*~|~

Harry and the rest of the students looked up as Dumbledore stood, tapping a butterknife against his glass goblet. The resultant shrill pinging was enough to grab everyone's attention. 

The headmaster smiled at the assembled students. "Well, how is everyone enjoying the feast?"

A wave of assenting murmurs, and a few of the usual dissenters, filled the room. Dumbledore smiled more broadly. "Excellent. Then, I have an introduction to make. Valence, will you stand up please?"

The shorter wizard looked mutinous, but at Dumbledore's insistent look, sighed and got to his feet. The headmaster nodded, pleased. "Ladies, gentlemen, civilized people, and students: it gives me great pleasure to introduce Professor Valence Feye, this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, as well as Hogwarts' former Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House."

On the other side of the table, Sprout and Flitwick looked resigned. McGonagall looked like she was about to develop a nervous tic. But most of the students were looking at Snape, seeing how he'd react to having DADA taken out from under him _again_.

The Potions Master seemed extremely sanguine about the whole thing, leaning back in his chair with a glass of wine. The Slytherins assumed that meant it was safe to clap with everyone else, and were indeed the loudest. After all, hadn't Dumbledore just said the man was a Slytherin?

It was amusing to watch how house reactions tended to follow the teachers that each belonged to. Gryffindors were the most subdued in their applause, and the visible thought on most faces was, _Oh no, someone who Snape actually APPROVES of can _not_ be good._ The Ravenclaws were cautiously enthusiastic, many having been won over by the potion-related discussion, which indicated the new teacher had a brain at least. (After Slytherins, they got on best with Snape.) The Hufflepuffs seemed to be a bit scared of the professor.

"Now, Valence," said Dumbledore, beaming, "I don't suppose you'd like to say a few words to your new students?"

Feye rolled his eyes but couldn't very well refuse in any tactful way. With an unpleasant smile at the headmaster, he stepped forward and began. "Hello. Dumbledore already told you all a bit about me. My full name is Vincent Valencian Feye. I am Valence Feye, however, only to my friends and colleagues.

"You... _students_ will have the privilege of calling me by my first name, which is 'sir.' If I decide you're worthy of the honor, I may eventually permit you to address me as 'Professor.' 

"Ask your parents about me, all you firsties and others. I taught a lot of them. They will tell you, quite truthfully, that I am hell to cross. Don't screw around in any class of mine you have the misfortune to be in. Not unless you intend to spend the rest of your time here as a test subject for my more dangerous attempts at potion-making."

An awkward, frightened silence settled over the Hall. Feye smiled viciously. "Enjoy the term."

His grey eyes glinting with glee, the new DADA professor sat back in his chair with a big smile. Dumbledore looked pained, then cleared his throat and said cheerily, "Well then. Professor Feye, everyone. You may return to your meal."

Nearly every student in the Hall hurried to duck their heads back down to their plates.

~|~*\V/*~|~

"Was that _really_ necessary, Valence?" Albus said with a sigh as he sat back down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Feye said innocently, taking a bite of steak. On his other side, Severus was struggling to keep a straight face.

Albus looked heaven-ward. "Some of them are first years, they're going to be _terrified_ of you."

"Good," said Valence with a smirk that was very much like Snape's. "Saves me the trouble of having to do it class by class, one by one. What'd you think, Sev?"

The Potions Master took a deep breath and managed to say calmly, "Inspired. I wonder why _I've_ never thought of using the 'testing subject' threat?"

"Because I'm a lot smarter than you," said Feye with a self-satisfied smile, choosing to plunge on before Snape could get in a scathing retort. "So, tell me what students I have to look out for. Isn't the Potter boy here by now?"

Snape rolled his eyes, aware of the ploy, but ignoring it in favor of discussing Harry Potter. "Look at the Gryffindor table--"

"Figures."

"Indeed. About halfway down, next to the red-haired boy--"

"A Weasley?"

"Gods, yes... But you should have no trouble picking him out. Except for the eyes, he's the spitting image of the late, great James Potter," drawled Snape, his casual tone belied by the intensity of his dark gaze upon Harry.

"Oh yes. I see him. Christ, you're right, he looks _exactly_ like his father. Hell. What's he like?"

"Annoying. In light of his Albus's continual desire to torment me in the name of Making Me a Better Person, our oh-so-_beloved_ headmaster had appointed me his unofficial nursemaid. As if the boy doesn't get _enough_ attention."

"I heard that, Severus."

"You were _supposed_ to, Headmaster."

"Ha. So anyways... you're not fond of him?" said Valence, his eyes alight with wicked glee. Severus spared him a glare before returning his gaze to the boy.

After a moment, he sighed, leaning back in his chair and raising his eyes to the Hall's starry ceiling. "I want to _stomp_ on him, Valence. I am restrained from doing so, of course, and must make up for it by being as nasty as I can be within my legal rights-- which generally means I can take House points and give detentions. Poor comfort, indeed."

"Oh, come on. Is he that much like James?"

Severus gave a miserable shrug, the effect somewhat ruined by his position against the chair. "Yes. And no. Just when I could swear on Merlin's grave that I'm looking at nothing but a clone of James Artorius Potter, complete with broom, thoughtlessness, and chivalry... he does something wrong. Looks at me with Lily's eyes... or... says something, _just_ the way she'd have said it. Laughs her laugh. Tilts his head the same way. Shows the odd flash of contextual intelligence...

"It's very rare. And it's horrible. I could _stand_ 100% Potter, or an even half-and-half mixture... but 99 percent James makes the 1% seem like an insulting afterthought."

Valence paused and took a long look at his friend. "You hate him more than you did James."

Snape let out a sigh. "Sometimes, yes. If Lillian hadn't married the bugger, she'd still be alive-- Voldemort would never have come after her alone, you know. And she died to save young, stupid Harry... so it makes father and son equal. In a way. Equally responsible for her death."

His black eyes scanned the ceiling morosely, looking for some answer in the constellations represented there.

Finally he sat up with an abrupt motion, his face irritated and disgusted. "Let's not ruin a perfectly good meal and evening with this nonsense. We were discussing the catalyst changes the Americans are applying to their med-potions. You said Bowen's using the de la Motte Principle?"

"Oh yes. It's an extrapolation on..."

The two lost themselves once more in their mutual love of the art of potions.

  
  
--FIN this part, I'll spit out more soon! 


	3. So What About the New Teacher?

That's What Friends Are For  
By Lady Dien

Disclaimer and all that is to be found in Chapter One.

What has gone before: Valence Feye, a former teacher at Hogwarts as well as a friend of Severus Snape, has returned and now teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts...

Notes and kudos: First of all a big thanks to _everyone_ who's been kind enough to review. I'm touched, flattered, inspired, the whole nine yards. To MartianHouseCat and de Severa especially: Not to worry, I have no intentions of revealing a Severus/Lily romance here. I merely think they were good friends. Go peek at Nyarth Kyukon's 'Memoirs of a Slytherin' to see it done properly, since I first got the idea from her.  
What else..? Oh, yes. 'Feye tossing book' is partly inspired by John Nash in 'A Beautiful Mind,' and partly by Moody in GoF. I _said_ there were similarities...  
Mm, I owe the 'obscuro visum' spell to R. J. Anderson, author of 'The Potions Master's Apprentice.'

If you like this fic, please try my other ones. I adore reviews. 

~|~*\V/*~|~

Chapter Three: So What _About_ the New Teacher?

The first week at Hogwarts passed, leaving a string of bedraggled first years in its wake. Even the older students found the first week back at school a bit trying, as they readjusted to classes and schedules after a whole summer of freedom.

And, of course, there was the matter of the new professor.

Harry and his friends had their introduction to Feye's DADA class first thing on Tuesday morning, stomachs still heavy with food from the night before and with dread of the upcoming lesson. With the fourth year Ravenclaws, they entered the long hallway that led to the classroom, then shuffled in a bit nervously and sat down at the desks.

The professor was sitting at the large desk at the head of the room-- well, sitting in the chair next to it, at least. His booted feet were resting on the desk, and he leaned casually back in his chair, eyeing each student to come in as if they were some new type of dessert he was eager to eat.

On the exact minute that classes were to begin, he made a gesture with his wand and the heavy classroom door slammed shut with a bang, making all the students jump.

"I don't appreciate tardiness," he growled. "The door to class will be locked to latecomers. Understood?"

The students nodded mutely. Seemingly satisfied, Feye got up from his chair and came around to the front of the desk, leaning back against it with his arms crossed.

"You are all here to learn what may very well be the most practical subject you ever study. I am here to force my knowledge of said subject into your young and impressionable minds.

"Now, as long as you remember that your role of student does not mean you're allowed to be insubordinate, foolish, lazy, or wasteful of my time, _I'll_ remember that my role of teacher does not allow me to screw with your young and impressionable minds, or slam you face first into walls until you stop twitching. And we'll get along famously. Nod if you all caught that, or do I need to repeat anything?"

More mute nods from around the room. Feye grinned suddenly. "Excellent. Let's begin with roll, shall we?

"Adams, Evan..."

The roll call progressed without incident until he reached 'Granger, Hermione.' He stopped and looked up from the parchment, his glasses catching the light. "Miss Granger. I've heard quite a bit about you."

Hermione tried simultaneously to sink lower into her chair and sit up straighter. Who could he have 'heard quite a bit' about her from? Snape. Which meant the things he'd heard were no doubt highly unflattering.

Feye's pale eyes were fixed on her with a unwavering stare. "The resident Muggle-born genius."

_Oh, great. Another sarcastic teacher that thinks I'm a little know-it-all... thank you_ so **much,** _Professor Snape, _Hermione thought sadly.

And then Feye smiled inexplicably. "Well, from one Muggle-born to another, Miss Granger, _non illigitamus carborundum._ Don't let the bastards grind you down."

Hermione blinked. She was unsure what had her more surprised-- the fact that the man had just seemed to say something nice to her, or the admission that he was Muggle-born. Now was she alone in her startlement. There was a murmur of whispers and surprise throughout the room.

Feye rolled his eyes. "Lord, students never change, do they? Yes, I am Muggle-born-- a _mudblood,_ if any of you are so tasteless and senseless to refer to us in that manner-- and I'm not _ashamed _of the fact, as some people seem to think I should be. Now, if we're all quite through giggling, whispering, and carrying-on, may I please continue with the roll?"

The students settled down, though a few regarded the professor in a different and more charitable light. Feye continued down the list of names, pausing every so often to say something to a particular student, often something about their parents or relatives that he'd taught.

And then he came to Harry Potter. After reading the name, he cleared his throat and looked up at Harry, who unknowingly imitated Hermione's reaction. _Great, I'm sure Snape's just told him all_ **about** _me..._

Feye regarded him thoughtfully, resting his chin in one hand and tapping the roll of parchment idly against his elbow.

"Taught your mother as well, Mr. Potter. Lily Christine Evans... now there was a character," he said with an unreadable expression. "And now I'm teaching her... son. Hah. Christ, but that makes me feel _old."_ Feye shook his head, then moved on to the next name on the list. 

Harry shot a 'what-am-I-supposed-to-make-of-that' glance at Ron, but his friend only shrugged.

"Rawlings, Christopher..."

Feye finished the roll call eventually, then set the parchment down and turned back to the class. He lifted the hefty volume entitled The Standard Guide to Dark Curses And Countering Them: A Comprehensive Approach, which had been listed as their textbook for this year. The students inwardly groaned but pulled out their own copies, waiting to be told what page to turn to.

Valence thumbed through a few pages of the book, his eyebrows arching in a highly unimpressed fashion. After a few seconds, he let out an dismissive snort and stalked over to one of the classroom windows. The students watched as he wrenched the window open, then unceremoniously tossed the book out of it.

"...._Right._ You can do whatever you want with your own copies, but considering your parents probably paid ridiculous sums for them, you'd be better off taking them back, or reselling them or what not," Feye grunted, moving back to his desk. Some of the students laughed, then quickly cut it off, looking apprehensively at the stern professor.

But he was looking at them with a slightly twisted smile. "You _can_ laugh, you know-- I'm not _that_ much of a bastard, children. Contrary to popular report and my own habits of scaring the hell out of my students."

A few more students laughed this time, and the atmosphere in the classroom visibly lightened. Feye grinned maliciously, and then without warning started casting curses on everyone in the front two rows.

"All right-- _confundo_-- you all start-- _obscuro visum_-- finding someone who's cursed, diagnose what ever it is they're cursed with-- _aggredo_-- and figure out how to lift it. _Petrifico._ Well? Your classmates are depending on you! _Hypnos._ I hope to Christ you're not all going to stand-- _horrificus extremus_-- around like this when Death Eaters are attacking! _Frigidus._ Come _on,_ MOVE yourselves, students!"

The class dissolved into chaos as the hexed students began acting in whatever fashion their respective curses demanded, and the non-hexed students tried to take cover.

Feye leaned back against his desk and grinned, though he never stopped barking out orders. "Come on, come on, you lot can do better than this. Bloody fourth years, hiding under the desks! Climb out from under there, you Gryffies are supposed to be _brave,_ aren't you? And you! Ravenclaws! Get those vaunted brains together and _act_, you little ninnies! Your fellow students need help! The teachers are elsewhere! Lives depend on you! Get _cracking!"_

"But-- but, s-sir, we don't know how to break most of these--"

"Then LEARN! And quickly. Come on, think! What's the most common way to end a spell of any sort?!"

"F-finite incantatem..."

"So TRY it, for the love of God!... Bleeding hell, I'm damn well saddled with imbeciles..."

Slowly, the non-hexed students did indeed begin to rally. Unconsciously, certain students began giving orders to the less-together ones, and pairs of students would approach one of the cursed ones cautiously, prepared to hold them down if they had to. In most cases, it was obvious what had been cast.

Some of the curses did indeed respond to the general 'finite'; others were more specific. 'Frigidus', for example, required a heating charm to counteract the cold. One by one, the ratio of normal students increased.

In less time than the fourth years would have thought possible, the class was over. Feye stopped them all and lifted the last few curses that remained unbroken. "All right, children. That's enough for today. Fair warning-- we may be doing these sort of drills often, and you're all going to have to damn well improve. Took you lot an hour to lift fifteen curses. Hopeless, and that's verifiable... No homework-- it'd obviously be taxing your feeble minds overmuch-- but I expect better and quicker results in the future! Got that, bratlings?"

Dazed students nodded, most nerves more than a bit frazzled. Feye grinned and said, "All right, get out of my classroom. I have you again on, what, next Tuesday? Ruddy lovely-- a week for the students to forget everything they've learned... Go!"

The students fled.

~|~*\V/*~|~

  
By the end of the week, student opinion about Feye was divided. His largest contingent of supporters came from Ravenclaw House, who mostly adored him. That is, once they got over initial hesitation and his habit of conducting classes that were without a doubt the most chaotic any of them had ever endured-- well, with the possible exception of Rubeus Hagrid's ill-fated "Creatures" course...

The Hufflepuffs (who had the class jointly, with the Slytherins) entered his classes in uniform terror. Valence Feye displayed the canine skill of being able to sense fear, and with wicked glee proceeded to replace Snape as Hufflepuff House's least favourite teacher.

It was the Gryffindors and Slytherins who found the class most trying to their preconceptions. Contrary to the fears of one house and expectations of the other, the former Slytherin Head showed not a bit of the partiality that seemed to characterize his successor. 

This resulted in a good half of Slytherin House (specifically the Malfoy-type and hangers-on) quite loathing the professor, but at a loss in where to turn to complain since their own Head of House was obviously on good terms with the man.

It also meant that a lot of Gryffindors became quite fond of Feye, mostly the more intelligent ones. Hermione got into a discussion of magical/Muggle theory with him in the hallway at lunch on Wednesday, and spent the rest of the week telling anyone who would listen that the man was _brilliant._

Harry and Ron didn't yet see the appeal, but acknowledged the class was much better than they had thought it might be. Snape's friend or not, Feye paid no more attention-- either positive or negative-- to Harry than he did to anyone else.

Two students who decidedly did not get along with Feye were the Weasley twins. They had not taken his injunction against 'screwing around' seriously, and plotted to set off a Zonko's Amazing Bomb of Ogre Stench in their first class.

_Somehow,_ Feye had seemed to know exactly what they'd been planning ("Sneaky," grumbled George, later. "Damn unnerving," added Fred) and had _not_ been amused. He'd taken their wands and the bomb, then led the pair into the corridor, that had a conveniently located broom closet right next door to the classroom. He'd ordered the twins in-- they had gone with resigned shrugs; there _were_ worse punishments than being shut in a cupboard-- --and then he'd tossed in the bomb after them. And locked them in with it.

Two boys with red hair and green faces were let out of the cupboard an hour later, with injunctions not to forget the lesson learned that day-- or to forget that the bomb had caused Gryffindor to lose five points.

Needless to say, the Weasley twins harbored a grudge. Also needless to say, they behaved in future classes-- or at least plotted their subterfuges more carefully...

But they were not the only ones who had gotten caught 'wasting time.' It was quite uncanny, how Feye seemed to _know_ what students were plotting, unfailingly. If they'd thought _Snape_ had a sixth sense for trouble...

"But at least he's fair," Dean Thomas had pointed out to a sulking George. "Just as hard on the Slyths as anyone else. Hell, maybe harder."

And that was true. If a student of another House was slow to get something in class, it earned them a lecture. If one of the Serpent's House did so, he seemed to take it as nothing less than a personal insult, and pity the Slytherin that displeased him so. The taking of House points, which he did without compunction, was nothing compared to the blistering tongue-lashings he could deliver.

All in all, Feye was making quite an impression.

~|~*\V/*~|~

  
_Knock knock._

"Severus? Can I come in?"

The Potions Master looked up from the stack of essays he was grading, damning red ink scrawled liberally across the current mediocre paper, and smiled. Valence was always welcome-- and knew it-- but the man never neglected to ask.

"Enter at will, Valence. But be warned-- I'm grading some spectacularly awful papers and am in a foul mood."

"Ah. A change from your usual sunny disposition how, exactly?" said Feye with his mad grin, peering around the edge of the door as he opened it carefully. Severus snorted.

"Oh, get in here. I shall abstain from the throwing of inkwells at your greying head, despite the pleasure I'd gain from the act," Snape muttered, marking a heavy red line through a particularly terrible sentence.

Valence grinned wider and moved to the chair in front of his colleague's desk, flopping into it with an utter lack of grace. Severus registered it with fond amusement; Feye was a man capable of more contradictions than anyone he'd ever met. 

A Muggle-born Slytherin. Yet even the 'mudblood' lineage was not strictly correct; there was old blood there, old wizarding blood in the name Feye... and the power that came with it.

He was a highly educated man, and not just in the ways of wizards; the two doctoral degrees (one in Mathematics and one in Ancient History) from the Muggle university of Oxford held as great a place of pride as the full Warlock status from the _Academe Magike_. Severus knew Feye spoke at least six languages-- yet was content to bark and drawl in the lower-class accents of his humble birth. And to pretend ignorance when he possessed no such bliss.

A master manipulator (one could not survive Slytherin House, much less being its Head, without being so) who preferred to let people believe he was tactless, dim, obstinate, and subtle as a slab of meat.

The contradictions extended even to appearance; wearing the Muggle spectacles rather than use a simple spell to fix his vision. Dressing in impeccable and expensive suits-- and _flopping_ into furniture with absolutely no regard for dignity or the fabric he wore.

More contradictions than anyone Snape had ever known.

Save for possibly himself.

"What year, Sev?" drawled the man, and it took Severus a moment to understand the question.

"Ah, third years. Gryffindor and Slytherins. Hell, in other words," he snarled, using the quill to draw a huge, simple 'X' over the whole of one parchment. In the margin, he inscribed in his razor-precise handwriting, _Do the whole thing over. This is trash,_ and set the essay in the graded pile.

"Speaking of Slytherins..." Feye began, helping himself to both an empty glass and the bottle of lunewine sitting on Snape's desk. 

"Were we?" Snape asked, his lips twitching as he watched the silvery liquor fill the tumbler.

"Of course we were, Sev," Valence said smoothly. "Speaking of Slytherins... you've been spoiling your House, lad." The tone was casual; the tension of the hand on the glass and the serious, unwavering stare of the pale eyes were anything but.

Severus smirked. The Slytherin past-time of choice... the verbal duel. But he was ready for Valence, had known the subject would come up, and had his defence ready.

And offence, if necessary.

_Look, lad,_ a younger Valence said in his mind, _don't you ever pull your punches. The other side sure as hell won't, and then you're playing at a disadvantage. Quickest way to lose is to give anything less than a 100%, and that's a verifiable..._

"I don't know if I'd call it 'spoiling,' Valence," he said in an off-hand tone of voice, pretending to scrutinize the next essay.

"Really. Then what _would _you call favoring them so much they can't even cope with a Slytherin professor _not_ covering for them, not letting them cheat, not giving them all the answers? You're teaching those children a very dangerous thing, Severus," Feye said quietly.

"They trust me," he replied simply.

"Ha. ...I don't care what you tell the old fox to rationalize it, I'm Slytherin and you damned well know better. What's the game?"

"You're Slytherin-- so figure it out, professor."

"Don't you start. Don't you bloody start, laddie. All week, I've been dealing with little Slyths who don't know the meaning of the word 'discipline'-- and that's _your_ doing. Your fault. Explain."

"Or what? You'll take house points from me? Or perhaps give me detention."

"_Damn _it, Severus. I'm asking you a friend. Straight talk, if you can manage it."

"How very un-Slytherin of you, Valence... I think you _are_ getting old."

An silence settled over the office. Severus ignored Valence's angry glare and made another vicious comment on the paper he was grading. Which he hadn't taken his eyes off of, during the whole conversation.

Finally he relented, setting down the quill and the parchment. He crossed his arms on the desk's mahogany surface and leaned forward, matching Feye's pale stare with his own dark one.

"Valence... Times change. Attitudes change. You were strict with us-- and it was good for many of us, I know. Lord knows I needed it. 

"But not every Slytherin got the same thing out of it that I did. Most didn't. You alienated far more of them than you helped. The times, Valence, the _situation_-- everyone already poking fingers at Slytherin House, painting us as monsters, as evils, as miniature Dark Lords in the making-- we didn't need our own Head of House against us too."

"Damnit, I wasn't against you, any of you! You _know_ that-- I did my damndest for Slytherin House, every one of you all--"

"_I_ know that. My housemates hardly saw it that way. You were harder on us than on any other students--"

"For your own good. You needed to be taught order, discipline, restraint--"

"But not like that. Gods above, Valence, it's so _easy_-- you're twelve years old, you're in a House that everyone hates, everyone says you need punishment-- and the one person who's supposed to be on your side takes thirty points from you and verbally rips you apart until you're crying in class. What are you supposed to think? He--they--we were bound to hate you."

"Lucius Malfoy already had his own reasons for hating me, thank you very much--"

"Mudblood. Yes. Like I did, before you taught me otherwise. But don't you see, how easily it could have different? He was afraid of you for years-- but you could have turned that fear into respect, so easily. And so many others... I can't help thinking. What might have been different. What might have changed. Had you told Lucius Malfoy, or Jonathan Avery, or Evan Rosier, just _once, _that they were worth something. Worth defending."

"Defen--? Christ's _blood_. I was _not_ about to let them get away with some of the shit they pulled! You're saying I should have bloody well _covered _for them? With the other staff? Lied about their practicing the Dark on campus? Is _that_ what you mean by 'defending,' Severus?!"

"No. No, I didn't say that... but what if you _had_, just once? Stood up for them?"

"This is bollocks. Unmitigated bollocks. I'll tell you what would have changed: nothing! Those Death Eaters would have grown up to be Death Eaters anyway."

"You don't know that."

"... We are not having this argument, Sev. I did my best to keep them from the Dark--"

"And how _well_ you succeeded. How well indeed," Snape murmured, staring down at his left forearm. "Marvelous results."

Valence was silent, and Severus realized what he'd said. He quickly looked back up, into the other man's pained expression. "Oh, for the love of-- Valence, that was not-- I don't blame _you_ for my choices, and I never have. You didn't make me a Death Eater, and you did more than your share to pull me back from it.

"My choices were _mine_, Valence. Please don't think I hold you accountable."

Valence sighed. "All right, so it wasn't my fault that you went over to the Dark Lord-- just my fault that all the others did. Do I understand your arguments correctly?"

"_No_. No. Merlin's teeth, but you're annoying. All that I'm trying to say, Valence, is that your way didn't work. So I'm entitled to try mine. And if _that_ doesn't work either, well-- you can point at me and say I told you so. I promise."

Feye's pale eyes narrowed skeptically. "It's a dangerous line you're trying to walk, Sev."

"Yes. It is."

"I hope to Christ you know what you're doing."

"I rather doubt that He wants anything to do with Slytherin House, Valence."

Feye snorted and turned his attention to the glass of lunewine he held, downing the tumbler's contents in one quick motion.

"Pour me some more of that, will you, and then finish grading those papers. I want to have time to beat you at chess at least twice tonight, before I hie me off to bed."

"Beat me? At chess? You delude yourself, old man," said Severus with a smile, and started to refill Valence's glass.

"Set up the board."


	4. Talk of This, Talk of That

That's What Friends Are For  
By Lady Dien

Disclaimer and all that is to be found in Chapter One.

What has gone before: Valence Feye, a former teacher at Hogwarts as well as a friend of Severus Snape, has returned and now teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts-- and told Severus that he doesn't approve of his teaching methods.

**Notes and kudos.** New word, children: **cognoscenti_._** This is archaic Italian for 'one who knows.' I will be describing it further in the story. For now go on context clues. ;)

Um, I want suggestions as to where to take this next. I have some ideas for later scenes, but they're still in the future. Is there anything anybody wants to see right now?

If you like this fic, please try my other ones. I adore reviews. 

**~|~*\V/*~|~**

Chapter Four: Talk of This, Talk of That

"And _that_, my foul-tempered, Slytherin-spoiling, mealy-mouthed moronic friend, is checkmate."

"Damn. _Damn_it... What time is it?"

"Er... twenty 'til =yawn= one. "

"Sigh... oh stop gloating, Valence. It's one game each so far. Shall we play the tie-breaker now, or...?"

"Lord, no. I'm not as young as I once was, you know. It's time this decrepit old fool voyaged off to the land of Nod."

"Valence, you're about as decrepit as I am sociable and out-going."

"Hah. ...Pour me some more, will you, Mr. Sociable."

"I can't. You've drunk it all."

"Have I then? Oh dear. Sincere apologies."

"I'm just _sure._"

"Why Severus! You say that as if you don't _believe _me."

Severus simply glared.

"Dear me, you've gotten good at that glare. Full marks. Been practising, I presume?"

"Oh shut _up_. Ass."

Valence smiled expansively and leaned back in his chair, then stretched towards the ceiling with a contented sigh. On the other side of the desk, Severus turned his head until his neck vertebrae cracked, then wearily did the same in the other direction.

"That really _is_ too long to play chess, you know."

"You kidding, Sev? Three, four hours for a game? That's a ruddy record for the two of us. Remember that game we played, off and on, for nearly your entire seventh year?"

"Oh yes. I kept going to the library to check the chess manuals after every move... who won that anyway?"

"Nobody. The pieces finally went on strike."

"Ah."

A comfortable silence settled over the room, broken only by the drip-drip-drip of an antique, beautifully crafted water clock that marked away the time in Severus's office.

Valence's eyes roamed around the room, meticulously observing. The clock rested on the mantel of the cold, empty fireplace, generally kept unlit as a precaution against unwanted visitors arriving by Floo. Two huge, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stood on either side of the fireplace, filled to capacity with hundreds of books on potions, herbology, magical theory, defense against the Dark arts, and magic in general. Despite the number of books here, Feye knew it was but a small part of his friend's extensive library, most books kept in his private chambers rather than in the office that students sometimes came in.

Especially certain of the more... sensitive texts.

On the other side of the spacious office (one of the benefits of teaching in the dungeons, which most staff didn't want to do, was the extra room) were several standing cabinets and armoires. These contained Snape's private stores of ingredients and completed potions, and Valence noted, with interest, that there seemed to be some rather complex locking charms on the cabinet doors.

_Interesting._ He knew that just as Severus kept his more dangerous, valuable, or controversial books in his chambers where there could be no chance of a student seeing them, so the really rare, dangerous and valuable potions ingredients were not kept in the office. Why, then, the elaborate locks?

Valence tore his gaze from the rest of the rather spartan office-- the only other furniture was the chairs he and his friend sat on and the equally utilitarian desk-- and looked at Snape instead. The younger man was still studying the chessboard between them, his chin resting in one hand and his expression irked.

"Hey Snape."

The head in question shot up, black eyes fixing on Valence's face. "What?"

"What's with the security system?" Feye said, jerking his head in the direction of the charmed cabinets.

He was amused by Snape's immediate reaction. Palpable irritation shot off Severus in waves-- at least, to Valence's particular senses-- but with the control of long practice (and long exposure to one Valence Feye) Severus forced it down. In the next second, his psyche had returned to his usual impassive, disciplined, and orderly mindset. Valence hid a smile.

Severus must have been aware that the _cognoscenti_ had caught his lapse, but said only, "I had an instance of thievery two years ago. I now prefer to be safe rather than sorry."

Valence arched a surprised eyebrow. "Stealing? From _you? _Who, a student?"

"One would presume so, yes," Snape said dryly, drumming his long fingers irritably on the arm of his chair. "I can prove nothing, of course, but I highly suspect Harry Potter. He was a second-year at the time."

"What was taken?' Valence asked thoughtfully.

"Boomslang skin and bicorn horn."

"Hunh. Boomslang skin, formal name _Dermis acoethris_. Used primarily in the Carolus Draught, the _Aquaem Potencia_, and the family of shape-altering potions that includes Polyjuice and Mutantur. For full potency, must be gathered under a full moon directly after the boomslang moults. Should be stored in a cool place," Valence recited idly, lacing his fingers together behind his head. He frowned slightly, then went off again. 

"Bicorn horn, or _bicornia cornu_. Primary uses are the Polyjuice Potion, the Deflating Draft, and Dreamless Sleep Potion. Generally harvested from bicorns in captivity, and usually stored in powdered form-- although some suggest the carving of the horns into cups and containers, which theoretically increases the potency of whatever is held in them..." Feye's lecturing tone trailed off.

"Sev... what on God's emerald earth would Harry Potter have wanted with those? Polyjuice is _much_ too complex for a second-year to have handled," he drawled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Unless that second-year student happened to be one Hermione Granger, Muggle-born Gryffindor," Snape replied darkly.

"Ah. I know you said she was gifted, but... she's that good?"

"She's that good."

Valence said wryly, "It really torques you that she's not Slytherin, doesn't it?"

"Yes it bloody well does. Blasted Hat."

"Come off. She's _much_ too ethical for our beloved House and you know it. Still, I'll be the first to admit the current crop of Slytherins could use a good example in the brains department... But we're getting off-topic. Assuming you're right, and Potter and Co. did indeed take your ingredients, and mudblood genius Granger's capable of making a P.J.-- that still doesn't solve _why_. What could those kids have possibly wanted to do, that'd be worth all that risk and work?"

"I haven't the faintest. Play some childish prank, no doubt. Impersonate someone. Cause trouble. But the day before I noticed them missing, there was a firecracker set off in Potter's class. I was trying to teach the little twits the Swelling Solution, so as you can imagine, the results were... messy. I'd bet my family estate that those three both caused the explosion and used the chaos to slip into my office," Snape growled, glaring at a white knight on the abandoned chess board as if it were Harry Potter himself.

"But you don't have proof."

"No. I don't. And not _all_ of us are mind-readers," Severus muttered in annoyance, using one finger to flick the knight off the board towards Valence.

Feye neatly caught the poor knight as it hurtled through the air, its thin little scream abruptly cut off by the solid hand clapping over it. With a grin, he returned the figurine to the board, saying, "I taught you as much as you could learn. Stop whining."

"I am _not _whining."

"Sulking then. Or whatever you're calling it now," Feye said.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed by this hour, decrepit old fool?" Snape replied loudly, and Valence laughed aloud before standing and stretching some more.

"Alright, I can take a hint. I'm going. =yawn= Thank God tomorrow's Saturday... you still a chronic insomniac, by the way?"

"Actually, it has it uses. I get most of my real work done at night," Snape said as he began to put the chessboard away.

"And a fair bit of corridor-stalking, hmm?" Valence asked with a smirk. "Ha... I can still remember that time in your first year, when I caught you sneaking down to the greenhouses to get moonwort for a potion you were working on. At two in the morning.

"Couldn't decide whether to take points for you being out of bed, or help you with what you were making," Valence said with a chuckle as made his way to the door. Severus smiled slightly as he remembered the incident.

"Well, I'm off. See you at brekky, Sev."

"Good night, Valence."


	5. Life Goes On?

That's What Friends Are For  
By Lady Dien

Disclaimer and all that is to be found in Chapter One.

What has gone before: Valence Feye teaches DADA and has been for two weeks. Lunchtime in the Hall holds surprises.

Notes and Kudos: To all those who have continued to ask about the future of this fic and feared I was giving it up: rejoice! New chappie! See?

If you like this fic, please try my other ones. I adore reviews. 

**~|~*\V/*~|~**

Chapter Five: Life Goes On?

"Hooch _what?"_

"Broke half the bones in her leg. Nasty fall, that. Poppy says she'll be alright, but in the meantime, the students are worrying about today's Quidditch match. First match of the season, and all that... you won't mind refereeing, will you, Severus?"

"Yes I bloody well will. I only did it during Potter's first year to keep Quirrell from hexing him off his broom. It was a one-time thing, Headmaster, you _know_ that--"

"But the Quidditch game, Severus..."

"Hang the bloody game! The students can wait a day for Hooch to mend. I'm _busy."_

"Your Slytherins will be so disappointed. They were looking forward to facing off against Ravenclaw."

"They can wait one damn day. I'm not ref--"

"What's all this? What'd I miss?"

"Ah, Valence, please join us. The house-elves outdid themselves with lunch today. Try the pot roast."

"Yeh. What'd I miss?"

"Nothing," Severus Snape said tersely, focusing his attention on his pot roast as Feye dropped into the seat next to him. The Great Hall was crowded and noisy with the hundreds of students eating lunch, and he had to speak up a bit to make his next words heard. "Merely the Headmaster being his usual self."

"And you being yours, I imagine. Pass the salt. So... I heard the word _Quidditch._"

Severus groaned and buried his face in his hands, ignoring Sprout's curious glance on the other side of him. Albus Dumbledore smiled with the smile of a man sensing impending victory.

"Yes, I was just attempting to make a small wager with Severus on the outcome of today's match... Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. He's oddly reluctant to bet with me."

On the other side of the DADA instructor, Severus shot a glance towards the Headmaster that plainly said, 'what the hell are you scheming now, old man?' Albus's eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he took a bite of pot roast, then continued speaking to Feye. The fellow was listening with an intensity that might have unnerved a lesser man. "Still, I suppose it's good that he's not accepting the wager... it might throw doubt on his being an impartial referee, and we can't have that."

"You're reffing, Sev?" barked Valence, whipping his head around to stare eagerly at the Potions teacher, who glared at his food. The Headmaster's smile grew broader, knowing he was now assured of victory. Just a little further nudge...

"Well, he is a bit reluctant," Albus confessed, nonchalantly taking a bite of salad. Feye's eyes lit up with inhuman glee. 

"Take his bet, Sev. _I'll ref."_

Severus paled, as did Sprout and McGonagall, who were within hearing range. They remembered. Oh, how well they all remembered. Snape finally closed his eyes in defeat. "Damn you, Albus," he growled. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Oh, I'm sure Valence would be happy to take it for you," Albus grinned, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. Severus glared past Feye and ground out, "I- said- I'll- do- it."

"Well, if you insist. Excellent. Game starts at four this afternoon."

"Four?" gasped Feye. "No one TOLD me! I need to go get ready!" And with that, the DADA teacher was up and out of his chair, rushing out of the Great Hall on the way to his chambers. Severus glared after him, then turned back to Albus.

"_That_ was a dirty, vile,  and underhanded trick. Forcing me to choose between letting _him_ referee, and..." Snape trailed off bitterly, then grimaced at Dumbledore's answering chuckle.

"See you on the pitch, Severus."

The Potions Master muttered under his breath and looked heavenwards for inspiration. It was not forthcoming.

**~|~*\V/*~|~**

From the little section reserved for the ref, Snape glared out into the crowded Quidditch arena. It was truly packed, every seat full. He yanked at the collar of the referee robe and swore under his breath, one hand tightening on the broom he held in his other hand.

Quidditch was, in his mind, a waste of time. He'd grown up with an older brother and sister who loved the sport whole-heartedly, each having been on their House teams. In such an atmosphere, he had of course learnt the rules very well. And he was a competent flier. But he had no patience for the sport-- nor for the rabid fans and fan-worship it produced.

Case. In. Point: In the centre of the Slytherin seats, there was a man wearing nothing but his trousers (much to the delight of some of the female population). Every _inch _of his bared skin was covered in green and silver moving paint, that constantly spelled out the words SLYTHERIN! Or SALAZAR! Or GO SERPENTS GO! Or HISS THIS! Et cetera, et cetera. He was holding a large placard in one hand that lit up constantly with a picture of a Snitch and a green-gloved hand grabbing it. The other hand was, contrary to all wisdom and safety precautions, holding a wand. Severus _had_ hoped someone would have thought to take his wand.

Snape knew that man. To his eternal and never-ending shame.

"Valence, you ruddy fool," he muttered to himself, then sighed. There was no more putting it off. He kicked open the flap of canvas that concealed his section and strode out onto the field, where the two teams were lined up and waiting.

Two weeks since term had started. Two weeks, in which those who had not known better had thought Feye to be a sane human being. Today, they were about to find out differently. 

Snape just hoped no one ended up in the infirmary.

He kicked off from the ground, and flew over to the two teams. He wasn't going to bother with all the tetchy this-and-that that Hooch did. Hovering near the two teams, he snapped out, "On your brooms."

The players did, the Ravenclaws looking a bit sullen. He knew they expected favoritism of Slytherin from him. _Well, sorry to disappoint,_ he thought with a sneer. The classroom was one thing-- but he took refereeing seriously enough. Impartiality was vital.

"You all know the rules-- or you ought to. Those who break them _will_ be off the field, and reserves will be called in. _Begin!"_

He blew a blast on the whistle-- and the game began.

NEXT: Quidditch!


	6. Quidditch!

That's What Friends Are For  
By Lady Dien

Disclaimer and all that is to be found in Chapter One.

What has gone before: Valence Feye is a rabid Quidditch fan. Who'da thunk?

If you like this fic, please try my other ones. I adore reviews. 

**~|~*\V/*~|~**

Chapter Six: Quidditch!

"And Ravenclaw Chaser Chan Chang makes a spectacular dive toward the goal-hoop and... yes! It's good! Ten points to the Ravenclaw team, setting the score at forty to thirty, Slytherin leading. Now _that's_ what we call a Chimmy Chimmy Chang Chang--"

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor. Oh, what's this-- Slytherin Seeker Malfoy is off, tearing up towards the north end of the pitch-- Ravenclaw's Cho Chang, Chan's younger (and quite attractive) sister is right behind him-- the question is, is this a genuine Snitch sighting, or merely Draco Malfoy playing mind games--"

"_Jordan..."_

"Other end of the field, Ravenclaw Chaser Boot dodges _both_ Bludgers to get the Quaffle in past Slytherin's Keeper for another ten points! Well done, and the score is tied!"

Severus Snape grimaced as he ducked to keep one of the Bludgers from knocking his head clean off. Damned things. He shot a glance towards Draco, who was grinning like a fool as he returned to his favorite position somewhat above the rest of the game. Behind him, the Ravenclaw Seeker was looking furious. Her own fault, for falling for Draco's I-see-the-Snitch-let's-race-for-it game.

He shook his head slightly and returned to scanning the rest of the field. Some excellent work by the Slytherin Beaters, and Ravenclaw's Keeper was busy enough ducking out of the way that Morag MacDougal managed to score once more for Slytherin. "Well done," he murmured to himself, though he couldn't afford to let his gaze linger on any one section of the field. Still, even if he hadn't seen the Quaffle go through, he would have known Slytherin had just scored because of the very very loud cheer that went up from the Slytherin section of the stands. He winced a bit as Valence's voice, magnified by a hasty Sonorus charm, echoed around the stands in the traditional (thirty minutes old) 'Slytherin Scored' Song:

_One, two, three for the SNAAAKES_

_One, two, three for the scoooore_

_Slytherin skill! Go in for the kill!_

_And we're comin' back for mooore!_

The 'song' was compounded by the fact that Valence really was an awful, terrible, horrible singer. 'Off-key' was putting it kindly. The voice the Fates had given him was not suited for music in the least, and the man was tone-deaf as well. Severus shook his head grimly, his face (and everything else) thrown into stark shadow by the brilliant green and silver illusory fireworks erupting from Valence's wand.

He had other things than Valence's over-enthusiasm to occupy his mind. Namely, taking Millicent Bulstrode and Anthony Middleton off the field for trying to punch each other in the faces and break each other's broomsticks. A reserve player for each team was called onto the field, and play progressed-- with, of course, Feye's requisite comments. Again magnified by the charm. 

"Come _on_ ref! Whadda you think yer doin'! Our girl was getting' _attacked_ by tha' Ravenclaw _berk_ an' ye take them _both _off? Bloody sodding blind!"

Feye's accent become much more noticeable when he was excited. 

Opinion in the stands seemed to be mixed about Valence Feye's ways of expressing his Quidditch loyalty. Some of the Gryffindors, it was obvious, were already planning to wear nothing but body paint to the next match their team was involved in, as they could now claim teacher precedent. The Hufflepuffs continued to look terrified of Feye, if the stricken glances thrown his way from the yellow-and-black section were any indication. Ravenclaws, formerly his fans, were throwing him dirty looks. Slytherins had stared in awe for the first quarter of the game. They were now whole-heartedly rallying behind the man, even the pure-bloods who normally despised him in the classroom.

All over the Slytherin section impromptu signs and placards were going up. At least ten of the students were joining in Valence's song every time Slytherin scored. From his position high above the chaos, Snape could see Blaise Zabini and Michael Fletcher stripping off their shirts and applying paint they must have recently obtained.

Wonderful. Valence had _groupies._

By the rules of Quidditch, he was only allowed to interfere with activity in the stands if it actively intruded onto the pitch. Otherwise, it was up to the supervising official, in this case Minerva McGonagall, to curtail unruly fans. He cast a glance towards the booth where Lee Jordan provided commentary. The formidable Head of Gryffindor House was glaring down at an oblivious Feye as if she desperately wanted to stomp on him and grind his green-and-silver painted body into the dirt.

_What in hell is stopping her, then? _Snape wondered as he ducked another Bludger on his way down to one of the Ravenclaw goal-hoops, where he planned on letting one of the Ravenclaw Beaters know he had seen her hand twitching towards her wand, and she'd damn well better stop if she wanted to stay on the field. 

As he maneuvered his broom next to her, a flash of silver beard caught his eye. He glanced up to see Albus Dumbledore in the stands, a paternal, amused smile on his face as he watched the goings-on. Ah. _That_ explained it. The Headmaster had told McGonagall to let it go, which accounted for why the woman was also shooting death-glares in Albus's direction as well.

Severus's anger at this... _shenanigan_ of Dumbledore's probably made him remonstrate the Ravenclaw Beater a little more harshly than was strictly necessary. She paled admirably, nodded, and took her hand well away from her wand before nervously flying off. Snape snorted, and headed off for the other end of the field where the Slytherin Keeper was doing _something_-- he wasn't sure what, but it definitely required keeping an eye on.

Ravenclaw got another Quaffle through a hoop, and again Lee Jordan's commentary had to vie with Valence's to be heard.

"Bloody JEE-SUS CHRIST! You call that a _goal!? _Bloody HELL, That's not flying, that's... that's... aerial circumlocution! ELUSIVE, TRICKY, SOPHISTIC SONS-OF-- newts," Feye finished lamely, perhaps not _that_ oblivious to McGonagall's patented Death Glare after all. A sigh of disappointment echoed through the stands. The students had really wanted to see the resulting confrontation.

Snape shook his head, ignoring Valence's continuing comments on 'how if HE was reffing, he wouldn't have let that pass, no sir, not one bit of it' and focused on the game.

Out of all the House matches, there were none worse to referee than a Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. On one hand, you had the House that Snape had to admit was the most likely to pull under-handed tricks, be sneaky, and all-around make attempts to cheat. On the other hand, you had Slytherin.

_Alright, alright, that's not true,_ he forced himself to admit. But Ravenclaws _did_ have a certain propensity for sneakiness, almost as great as Slytherins. And they were _quite_ intelligent about it. When a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin got into a subtlety contest, woe be to him who had to arbitrate.

Normally, the House of Blue and Gold played fair, choosing to duel evenly (if condescendingly) with Gryffindors, whom they regarded as simplistic, and with Hufflepuffs, whom they regarded as even more simplistic. But when it came to Slytherins-- kid gloves came off on both sides of the pitch. Conflict with Slytherins seemed to bring out the worst in Ravenclaws, and conflict with Ravenclaws seemed to make Slytherins try and be four times as sneaky, in order to outsmart the supposedly smartest.

All in all, it made refereeing between the two absolute hell.

Snape grimaced, cursed under his breath, dodged another Bludger, and flew off to penalize two Chasers who thought they were being very subtle about hexing each other. Little twits.

It took a bit of time to sort out, but the two were both satisfactorily intimidated by the time he left them, turning back to the rest of the game-- just in time to see Draco Malfoy struggling to stay on his broom, Cho Chang smirking, and to hear Valence Feye outraged.

"BLOODY MERCIFUL BEARD OF SALAZAR HIMSELF!!!! _ARE YOU BLIND! **THAT LITTLE RAVENCHIT JUST ASSAULTED OUR SEEKER, MAN!!!!!**_FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SLYTHERIN, GET HER OFF THE FIELD! You _blind_, deaf, ignorant, sorry, squibbed excuse for a ref--"

"Alright, _that_ is quite enough," Severus growled under his breath, and left the two Chasers to fly right up to the booth with Jordan and McGonagall. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he yanked the magical Resonator from a surprised Jordan's hands, and yelled into it, "Valence. So help me Circe, if you do not _shut up, sit down, and let me get on with reffing WITHOUT your commentary, _I will fly over there and personally strangle you with your own intestines. _Are we **clear?**"_

The players and students all froze as Snape's threat resounded through the suddenly quiet arena, every eye fixed on Valence, who had also frozen, mid-holler. Slowly, the DADA instructor began to turn red under his green and silver paint, and weakly grinned at everyone before sitting down. He murmured, "Clear. Sorry, Ref," the sheepish apology also carrying to every ear in the house, then sank down in his seat with a furious blush.

"_Good,"_ Severus snarled, shoved the Resonator back into Jordan's hands, then wheeled his broomstick around to get back to the field. "Resume play," he snapped to the still motionless players, and after a second or two, they awkwardly did so.

Severus forced himself to take deep breaths as he resumed reffing, aware of Albus Dumbledore's amused gaze on him. It was worth it, especially when MacDougal scored again and the cheers from Slytherin section were decidedly without any attempts at song.

"Gods, let this be over soon," Snape whispered to himself, then flew off to where the Ravenclaw Keeper was attempting an Invisible Impermeability charm on one of his hoops. He ducked another Bludger on the way, and resolved to give the Beaters from both teams detention for a week.


End file.
